


The Triumph of Destiny

by scatterglory



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fix-It, Future Fic, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:37:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatterglory/pseuds/scatterglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my own personal "fix-it" take on how I wish the show would play out. It's a slightly different format than my usual, so hopefully it works (do 10 sequential drabbles = 1 ficlet?). Loosely follows my previous drabble, "<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/284643">Safekeeping</a>."</p><p>Spoilers up through 4x09, "Lancelot du Lac." Not beta'd or Brit-picked.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Triumph of Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : This is a transformative work of fan-love. No profit is made from this endeavor.  
> 

  
It's not the way Morgana's voice breaks as she screams, or the way her eyes flash horrific, sickly red before fading to milky white.

It's not the way she crumples, boneless and quivering, nearly hitting the floor before Merlin catches her.

It's not Gwaine's hiss of surprise or Elyan's muffled curse; it's not Leon's hand on his shoulder or the stunned expression on Percival's face.

No―the thing that sends Arthur to his knees, sword still clenched in his hand, is the way the words fall so naturally from Merlin's tongue, spinning off into the air and shattering Arthur's world completely.

* * *

“Sire.”

The fear and respect in Merlin's tone both soothe and enrage Arthur. Merlin's on his knees without prompting, his neck bare in the cool air of the cell, inviting the touch of Arthur's unsheathed sword. Merlin holds his eyes, unblinking, and Arthur speaks before he can catch himself.

“I'm not going to kill you.”

Merlin says nothing, and Arthur continues. “You have until dawn―”

“No!” There's nothing respectful in Merlin's tone as he surges to his feet, and Arthur's heart leaps in his chest.

“I would rather die at your hand than leave you.”

* * *

He's not surprised to find that Merlin isn't in his new chambers. The robes and title had been bad enough; being granted a tower suite to go along with his new position had been terribly embarrassing for his humble former manservant.

He is surprised, however, when he hears the low, soothing murmurs coming from behind Morgana's door. He forces himself to take a deep breath before pushing inside.

Merlin looks up at him, face pale but smiling, as Morgana curls around him in her sleep.

“She's getting better,” he whispers.

Arthur nods, and turns, and leaves without a word.

* * *

The darkness curling in Arthur's chest makes him short at dinner. Merlin frowns, but doesn't push, lines of exhaustion creasing the corner of his eyes. They eat alone in the great hall, and Arthur feels the distance between them grow with every silent, torturous bite.

He reaches for wine just as Merlin reaches for water.

“Hello, Merlin.”

The voice is unfamiliar to Arthur, but Merlin's face lights up.

“Freya,” he breathes.

“He's waiting. When will you come?”

There's joy in Merlin's tone and tears in his eyes as he glances up at Arthur. “Tomorrow,” he promises.

* * *

When Merlin returns, he brings Lancelot … and Guinevere.

Arthur welcomes them mechanically, before fleeing to his chambers.

Later that night, the knock on his door comes as a surprise. Merlin takes his silence as permission to enter.

“I took them to see her,” he says, sitting next to Arthur on the bed. “She responded well to their presence.”

Arthur stares straight ahead, throat working silently, hands clenched on his thighs.

Merlin nudges his shoulder. “They'll be good for her.”

He's trying to tell Arthur something, but Arthur can't hear it over the pounding in his ears.

* * *

It's easy to slip back into...no, not “back,” because none of them ever had this before, just “into.”

Into the easiness of the four of them, eating and drinking and laughing softly together.

It's all Arthur's idea, at first. A way to confront the pain of seeing them together, with only Merlin's presence at his shoulder for support.

Only, now the pain has nothing to do with the soft way they smile at each other.

It has everything to do with the way Merlin excuses himself to tend to Morgana, and Arthur doesn't see him again until morning.

* * *

When Morgana finally joins them for dinner, it's with a hesitance she's never shown before, and a light in her eyes Arthur thought he'd never see again. When he wraps his arms around her, something cold melts inside him. Merlin smiles at her, at them, but Arthur pretends the smile is just for him.

Then Merlin guides her to the chair between Lancelot and Guinevere, the place Arthur hadn't even noticed was empty, and she sinks into it as though she belongs there.

Merlin takes his own place at Arthur's right hand, and Arthur doesn't know what to think anymore.

* * *

“What's _wrong_ with you?”

Merlin pays even less attention to propriety now that he's no longer a servant, and tonight it makes Arthur's chest tighten.

“Nothing. Go to her. Forget I wanted you to stay.” He turns away and almost flings the pitcher of wine onto the hearth, but restrains himself.

“She's probably busy at the moment,” and he doesn't know why Merlin's tone is so patronizing, so sharp.

“She'll make time for you,” he mumbles, staring into the fire.

“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin sighs, and Arthur feels like he's failed again even though Merlin stays.

* * *

It's easy to relax after several goblets of wine, to not jerk away when Merlin slumps down against his side in front of the fire.

It's hard to relax, however, when Merlin's breath ghosts over his neck and Merlin's nose presses against his jaw.

It's harder still when Merlin moans, _finally,_  as Arthur's lips brush over his mouth, leaving Arthur with no choice but to press him down, firmly, onto the rug.

Then it's easy to relax, again, with Merlin tucked against his side and safe in his bed, as their whispered words and promises linger in the night air.

* * *

And when, far away in the ancient castle, the five humans sit to break their fast together, an old dragon chuckles in his sleep.

 _What is it?_ the young one asks, stretching like a cat in the morning's soft light.

 _Nothing,_ rumbles the elder. _Merely the return of magic, the rise of peace, and the triumph of destiny._

He opens one wizened eye, just enough to see the youngling blink at him sleepily.

 _Never mind._ His voice is warm and indulgent with joy. _Go back to sleep._

And the little one yawns, and curls up in the sun, and obeys.

  
 **Fin**   



End file.
